She’d sprinted out the door, pulling her jacket on as she went. Sellitto had followed shortly after.

Now Rhyme got a message from Sellitto, also mobile, reporting that a tac team had hit the Belvedere warehouse in Chelsea and found nothing. ESU commander Bo Haumann had left a small surveillance team and divided up the others; one group was heading to the Belvedere Apartments and one to the theater, which was massive; the search would take some time.

Just after he disconnected, his phone line rang again. ‘Rhyme?’ Sachs’s voice came through the speakers.

‘Just heard from Lon,’ he told her. He explained that the warehouse was a bust. ‘But that means you’re getting some reinforcements. An ESU team’s headed to the apartment building where you are.’

‘Not are, Rhyme,’ she muttered. ‘Will be . Traffic’s lousy. And nobody knows how to drive in this weather. I’m on the sidewalk. Hold on.’ Rhyme heard a crash as presumably her Torino reseated itself on New York City asphalt. He wondered about debilitating damage to the drive train or the axles. ‘At this rate, ten minutes. And it’s just ’cross town. Jesus.’

Rhyme noted another incoming call on his phone.

‘I’ll call you back, Sachs. ESU’s on the other line.’

‘Lincoln, you there?’ It was Haumann.

‘Yes, Bo. What’s the status?’

‘Tac Team Two’s almost to the Belvedere Apartments. We’ll hit the basement in the building and the garage too. Any more evidence that he’s armed?’ Haumann would be remembering the earlier incident, at the hospital in Marble Hill, where Unsub 11 5 had threatened to shoot Harriet Stanton and Sachs.

‘Nothing further. But assume he is.’

‘I’ll pass it along.’ A pause as Haumann spoke to someone else in his car or ESU van. Rhyme couldn’t hear the exchange. ‘Okay, we’re rolling up silent.’

‘I’ll tell Amelia you’re there. She’ll want to be included in any tactical op. I wouldn’t take any chances. You can’t wait. Go in, dynamic, ASAP.’

‘Sure, Lincoln, we’ll do it.’

Rhyme said, ‘Tell your folks to look out for traps. That’s his new game. Gloves and respirators.’

‘Roger that. Hold on … Okay, Lincoln?’

‘I’m here.’

‘We’ve got a chopper in place. You want to log in and watch?’

‘Sure.’

The ESU commander gave him the code and a moment later Rhyme, Pulaski and Cooper were staring at the screen. It was a high def image of two boxy ESU tactical trucks, designation numbers clearly visible on their roofs. Rhyme could see two dozen troops deploy through the front door of the apartment building and down the exit ramp of the garage. The parking attendant was being led away to safety by one of the officers.

The audio was up too. Rhyme could hear the ESU troops as they made their way through the facilities. ‘… Southwest corridor, level one, clear … Access door here … no, it’s sealed … ’

Haumann disconnected and Rhyme called Sachs back. Told her about the conversation.

She sighed. ‘I’m ETA five minutes.’ He could hear the disappointment about missing the entry.

Rhyme’s attention swiveled to the radio feed from the tactical operation.

‘Tac Two A is going in, heading down the stairs to the lower level. Two B is heading down the garage ramp. Hold on … So far, no resistance, no innocents. We’re green. K.’

‘Rhyme, I’m almost there. I–’

But he missed what she said next. An officer’s voice blared out of the radio. ‘Tac Two B … we have a situation. Lower level, parking garage … Jesus … Call it in, call it in! … Fire department … Move, move, move! We need fire now! K. ’

Fire? Rhyme wondered.

Another officer echoed his question. ‘What’s burning? I don’t see anything burning. K? ’

‘Tac Two B. Negative on fire. The perp opened a standpipe to cover his getaway. We’ve got a flood. We can’t get through. Already six inches of water. And it’s rising. Need a fireman with a wrench to close the fucker. K.’

Rhyme heard a chuckle from the ether – apparently relief that they had to contend only with water, not an arson blaze.

He, however, was not amused. He knew exactly what their nimble unsub had done: unleashed the flood not only to slow down his pursuers, but to destroy whatever evidence he’d left behind.

Running now, sprinting.

Billy Haven was underground, in the old train tunnel once more, heading back past the spot where Bear man Nathan had come close to performing his straight razor modification.

His backpack light as a leaf on his shoulder – that’s what adrenaline does – he sprinted fast. The latex mask was off but not the gloves or coveralls. He carried his shoes. He was in his stocking feet. There wasn’t, he’d learned in his research, any database for cloth footwear that might allow them to trace him. The booties were too slippery for sprinting.

Move, move, move …

The warning that had precipitated his rapid escape from the Belvedere parking garage had not been the squeal of brakes from the Emergency Service trucks or the quiet footfalls of the cops. He’d known a few moments before that that he was in danger. The police dispatcher had reported the address and mentioned the name Belvedere, as Billy had heard through the earbud, connected to his police scanner.

He’d then taken some measures to make sure the location – and the victim – would be useless to the police.

Thou shalt cleanse the crime scene of all that can incriminate.

Then he was back through the utility access port in the Belvedere parking garage’s wall.

And underground once more.

Finally it was safe, Billy figured, to get to the surface. Chest aching, coughing shallowly, he climbed through another access door into the basement of a Midtown office building. It was one of those scuffed limestone functionaries of architecture, three quarters of a century old, possibly more. Ten, twelve stories high, with dimly lit, jerky elevators that prompted you to bless yourself before you stepped inside.

Billy, though, took the stairs from the basement and, after checking, eased into the first floor hallway, the professional home of ambulance chasers, accountants and some import export operations whose names in English appeared under Cyrillic letters or Asian pictograms. He stripped off the coveralls, stuffed them into a trash bin and pulled on a different stocking cap, beige for a change. Shoes back on.

At the greasy glass door leading onto the street Billy paused and looked for police. None. This made sense; he was far enough away from the site of the attack at the Belvedere. The officers would have their hands full for some time there. It amused him to think of what was going on in the garage.

Stepping out onto the street he moved quickly east.

How had the great anticipator anticipated this? Yes, he’d been to the Belvedere several times to scope out the place. Maybe he’d picked up some trace there that had been discovered. That seemed unlikely but, with Rhyme, anything was possible.

Walking through the sleet, he kept his head down and thought back to any mistakes he might’ve made. Then: Yes, yes … he remembered. A week or so ago he’d called directory assistance to get the number for the Belvedere to check on the hours of the parking garage. He’d been in the tattoo supply store, buying extra needles for the American Eagle machine. That’s how they’d found him.

This raised a question: The only reason the owner would have mentioned the Belvedere was because the police wanted to know who’d bought an American Eagle or needles for it. But how had they learned that this was his murder weapon?

He’d have to do some more thinking about that.

A subway station loomed and he descended the slushy stairs then caught a train south. In twenty minutes Billy was back at his workshop, in the shower, letting the hot water blast his skin as he scrubbed and scrubbed.